People Get Ready
by Naval
Summary: There's a train a-coming! When Six is sent to investigate an English mystery, Rex is put under Madam Seven - whom he despises. But he might need her in solving his biggest  and fastest mission  to date. K  for some cussing, and OCs being mean to Rex.
1. Madam Seven, Pariah

**Title:** The title comes from a The Impressionists song called 'People get Ready' - and, why, the lyrics are down there! Imagine that!

**Summary:** When Six is called away to an English mission, Rex is given a new mentor - whom he despises. But Madam Seven may be more than she seems, and he may need her help to save Six from what could be the biggest (and fastest mission to date).

**A/N: **Woot, finally something that's not a oneshot and Treasure Planet related! Well, what can I say? I love G-Rex! This show has taken over my life and my better judgement. And I love Rex! Besides being really, disturbingly handsome, he's also such a goldmine of woobieness and neediness and... augh, he's too cute! *dies*

Expect to see trains here. A LOT of trains. That may or may not be entirely accurate in depiction. (Don't flame if you find bad research - save the flames for burning White Knight at stake.) Hopefully, the English railway system hasn't changed that much from our generation to Rex's. xD

And... Madam Seven is totally my mom and my Literature teacher rolled into one. xD And - heads up! - her linguistic patterns weren't meant to follow Malaysians today. It's more of a Salman Rushdieish sort of semi-English because she can't speak either English nor Malay very well independently.

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_People get ready _  
_There's a train a-coming _  
_You don't need no baggage _  
_You just get on board _  
_All you need is faith _  
_To hear the diesels humming _  
_You don't need no ticket _  
_You just thank the Lord _

- From '_People Get Ready_' by The Impressionists.

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* * *  
**1.1. Agent Seven**

Agent Seven's real name was Madam Sheri Mazlinda – not _French _'_Cherie_', but '_Sheri_', with an '_S_' – a formidable buxom woman with generous buttocks and an overwhelming smell of rosewater and sweat. She was, according to the morning briefing, the only Asian in The Ten, and took great pride in outranking everyone but six people at Providence.

She was Rex's new handler and the EVO boy despised her on first glance.

There was something disgusting about the woman – he couldn't quite pick out what he hated the most – her habit of very indiscreetly wiping the sweat off her upper lip with her hand, or the annoying rapping of her ringed knuckles on the table whenever she got bored.

To his credit, he had been civil on their first meeting. But what he'd originally referred to as a 'nice sari' earned him a sharp glare and a lesson on how 'sari' was an Indian word and how she was, clearly (as mud), Malaysian.

Bobo, on the other hand, had taken to the woman like a magnet to the refrigerator door. She was, at least, to the chimp, 'homely'. He'd spent every morning briefing next to her at the table, letting her slowly stroke his scalp. Rex shuddered, disgusted at them both. He could see the family resemblance.

Over the course of a week, she'd become a regular at the briefings, and a common sight at the Providence base. Rex thought nothing more of it. She was just another person – albeit an annoying, smelly, and very important one. Truth be told, he could have even enjoyed her company, if she'd given him some space and even more time. Instead, she did the opposite.

"I will," she had announced in the doorway of his room, "take over the duties of your former handler, boy,"

Rex spat out his drink, forming an impressive arc of water which he wasn't in the mood to admire.

"Former?" He gathered himself. "But... no, I have Agent Six and..." His voice droned off, as he struggled to remember the last time he'd seen the man. A week ago, maybe? No, probably a month. Now that he put his mind to it, Six had never been, nor felt, so distant before.

"Six is relieved of his duties, boy." Madam Seven said, in a remarkable Six-like monotone. "As of today, you listen to Madam."

"You can't do that!" Rex found himself glowering. "Six wouldn't let you... _I_ wouldn't let you!

"Hey, kid, be nice," Bobo warned, emerging from behind Seven's heavy skirt. Rex narrowed his eyes.

"Traitor." He snarled, a feral growl emerged from his throat.

"Sleep boy," Madam Seven pushed the door's shut button, letting the closing door end their conversation for her. "We start training tomorrow."

Rex banged his fist on the metal sharply. "We'll see what Dr. Holiday says about this, you smelly... slugpersonbitchthing!" He was never good at cussing.

He could have easily have commanded the door to open, or complained to the Doc, but arguing against Seven would be just as fruitless as arguing against Six. It wouldn't get him anywhere. To top it off, Bobo had left with her. He'd never felt so utterly, completely alone.

With his back to the door, he slid down to the floor. So, this was it. He was sold to a new master.

Training under Seven consisted of the oddest things – from a trip to a supermarketplace ("Find all of the grocery things on list under a minute. Now, boy, run!") to reading aloud to her in the Providence library (always the boring books, like 'War and Peace', and 'Dorian Gray') where she could comment on his bad pronunciation, much to Bobo's sniggering.

"Dor-_ree_-_an_, boy, _Dorean_! Not '_Durian_'! Durian is a _fruit_! _Fruit_, boy, _fruit_!"

Today, Madam Seven (who was liberal enough to be called 'Sheri' by some) was reading from an electronic book – and a fairly recent one, too. Rex stared enviously from his own library chair, where he nursed an old ratty paperback of 'Emperor of the North Pole'. It was, from what he'd gathered, vaguely about poor people who fought a lot and hated each other's guts for it. What a thriller.

It had been two months. Sixty godforsaken, Agent-Sixless days.

Silently, he wondered where the man was, what he was doing, and – most importantly – if he was ever coming back.

* * *  
**1.2. Pariah.**

_There are three kinds of people in the world – people who count, and people who can't._

_That always cracked me mom up. She was a terrible, terrible sucker for bad humour. _

_What about you? You like jokes? _

_..._

_I'll take your silence as a no._

The man who was constantly referred to as Agent Six brought his American milkshake closer to him, his expression devoid of emotion. Across the table, what looked to be a sixteen- year-old girl was seated, looking out through the window at the turnover of trains and shaking her legs (and occasionally, apologetically, kicking him).

Her callused fingers were interlaced together, a gesture of misleading polite formality, since her T-shirt clearly read 'FUCK ME' in bold white lettering. A niggling notion kept invading Six's mind – Rex would love a shirt like that. He did his absolute best to ignore it.

As for his own clothes, he'd, sadly, done away with his suit. Instead, a roomy red and orange Hawaiian was draped around his shoulders, which did an amazing lot to hide his musculature and his katanas. He shifted around uncomfortably in the shirt's roomy comfort. The clothes were Providence's decision – he had to blend in for this.

"Oi'm Dipsy," FUCK ME girl grinned. One of front teeth was missing. "Wassyourname, Mistah Six?"

His eyes still shielded by his shades, he raised his brow dismissively. Questioning Six, said the eyebrow, was out of the question.

"Well... D'ye want... anythin' else?" She looked over at his empty, dishwasher-clean plate. "There's blueberry pie here and I swear it's better than the shite they'll serve ye in London an'..."

Her droning, accented voice subsided slowly, to Six, into background noise. I don't have time for this, his mind screamed. Expertly, he smothered his impatience, and pulled out the folders from his suitcase. Arranging them neatly between on the table, he chose the thinnest and handed it to the girl.

"Five weeks ago, Miss Tern, a co-worker of yours disappeared."

The file opened up to a comprehensive writeup of one Guido Polunochnaya, complete with a little paperclip pinning a passport-sized picture tight to it. Polunochnaya had a startling Greek profile and dark, clever eyes. He was, as the writeup mentioned, a racial pariah consisting of everything Europe had to offer – Italian, Russian, Czech, French, Polish, and then some.

"Now, Miss Tern, I understand you were close to Mister Polunochnaya?" Six silently thanked the heavens that the name had left his mouth properly pronounced. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to get it right.

"Well, yeah," She flipped through the rest of the report – a detailed account of Polunochnaya's medical status (nothing, save a history of juvenile asthma), Polunochnaya's criminal record (blank), and Polunochnaya's last submitted resume (he was a Technical Engineer from Sheffield who 'loved to work with trains').

It was nothing she didn't already know.

"Sorry," she handed him back the folder, before picking up a second, this time with notably less interest. "Oi don't know where this's goin'."

This one documented Polunochnaya's school history (from day-care to university), Polunochnaya's credit card statement for the last year, and – well, this was interesting – a writeup of him from Providence psychoanalysts and doctors. She began to skim with voracious eyes.

In conclusion, due to Mr. P's complex genetic makeup, medical history, and his proximity to the area now known as Abysuss during The Event, we may conclude with little doubt that...

Six dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Providence has... reasons to believe Palomino –" Six stopped, cleared his throat, and corrected himself: "Polunochnaya... is suffering from the sides effects of the Nanite Event."

She stopped. At the end of the write up, just under the signature of a Dr. Sandra Holiday, M.D., was an inked stamp – the bold red rectangular sort with large letters. Amidst a sea of typed print, the stamp caught her off-guard. Till now, she'd never thought they existed outside period dramas.

But what shook her wasn't the anachronism, it was what it said.

In red, unforgiving font, was a single phrase:

"ACTIVE E.V.O".

"Dipsy," Agent Six's expression was mercilessly calm. "Guido Polunochnaya's an EVO. A large, potentially sick, and very dangerous EVO." His fingertips met in a Mr. Burnsesque pyramid.

"...And I believe you know where he is."

* * *

**A/N: **Forsooth, do we spy Six being *gasp* ...EVUL? D:  
It's probably the shirt - I'm sure he has his reasons.

Psst! My sister told me she imagined Dipsy looked like that Hispanic chick from Disney's _Atlantis _(sure, it was a bad movie, but it _had _good characters). XD Good luck imagining her with a Cockney accent.

Also, I update _slooowly_... But your comments, subs and favourites might gnee me into action! cB

-Nickyoff!


	2. John Henry, A Brief History, India

**A/N:** Hey all! First, let me tell you that you guys are great! 8D I love to hear from you and checking for reviews of this is probably the one reason why I heave my festering carcass out of bed each day.

And, well, look here, I've been derped into making a new chapter really, really fast! Originally, this was only supposed to be 1500 words - it went past 3000 - so... hot giggiddy, this is _long!_ I swear I've never been motivated so much before in my life to write - which may or may not be a good thing, since I have a Philosophy essay due soon. (In Soviet Russia, Fanfiction _really does_ write you! D: )

It's so... rushed. So I'm sorry if the quality and depth of the first chapter isn't really here.

Well, now, what to expect in this new chapter... Hmmms... there's a new OC (I swear, this is the last!), and if you can tell me the significance of his codename without Googling it, you'll get, not one, but _two _unicorns! Ooh, how very shiny!

Oh, yes, keep reading all the way to 2.3 - that's where REX GETS HIS ASS GRATUITOUSLY KICKED BY A COW! O: Not to mention he finally tells Seven he hates her.

And if Dipsy and John Henry's English gets too hard to read, tell me. :I I'm still working the extent I should accent their speech. (And I know transcripts don't note down the accent of the person speaking, but, heck, it just wouldn't be Dipsy otherwise. xD )

**EDIT:** Fixed 'oxide' to 'oxygen'. That was... stupid of me to miss it. O.o

**

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**

*****  
2.1. John Henry.**

At the corner of Worthington and Lysander, illuminated by a single white lamppost, a heavyset man drew a box of cigarettes from his coat.

Though, in theory, he was supposed to be referred to as Agent Thirteen, no one outside of The Ten really called each other by their numbers. The higher echelons of Providence were fortunate (and unequivocally cool) enough to receive codenames. Much to Thirteen's annoyance, however, they'd named him 'John Henry'. It suited his build, and his penchant for hammers – it just didn't quite match his accent.

The English-African drew his coat closer to his neck. It usually got cold at this time of night. Nimbly, he struck a match and held it against one end of a Marlboro cigarette, the other end carefully balanced between his lips. He relished the several seconds of sputtering as the end began to singe. Finally, with a deft, expert hand, he flicked the flame out and drew a long, elated breath of smoky air.

"You shouldn't smoke. Ruins your health."

He flinched, teeth grinding into the Marlboro paper. Turning, his eyes snagged on the figure of a man in a loudly-coloured Hawaiian-print shirt; which did nothing to offset the general mood of foreboding surrounding him. Though John Henry was built like a solid brick wall and had a twenty-pound spring loaded hammer for self defense in his coat, Hawaiian Shirt's stiffness never failed at raising the hairs at the back his neck.

"Anyone ever told you t'aint nice to sneak up on people like that, Six?" He drew himself up to full height, a considerable two heads taller than his rendezvous. "And yo're late."

The man said nothing. Through the smoke from his Marlboro, it looked to John as if he wasn't even breathing. It was to be expected – what with Six being Six – but still, the complete lack of cordiality in the man was unsettling. John put out the cigarette. You'd think half a year working in the American base would've gotten him used to the Snow King by now.

"How's America?" He attempted friendly conversation, flicking the butt onto the ground. "I watch the news – Rex's getting tall."

A pause. John footed the expended cigarette uneasily.

"He is," Six's tone defrosted slightly, but said nothing more.

"I expected he'd be here." John Henry glanced over the man's shoulder, in case he'd missed the boy's red jacket. "Din't you bring him?"

Six stiffened. "If Providence is right," If they were going to work together, his subordinate deserved an explanation, "we'll be dealing with a lot of nanites. Too many for Rex to handle without mutating himself. And if Polunochnaya's really an Incurable, you know what that means."

It suddenly became clear to John. If America had taught him anything, it was how much the sanctity of life mattered to Rex. "You'd have to kill him," _And Rex would hate you for it. _

"It's better this way. For both of us." Six said nothing more, shifting, instead to the matter at hand:

"Were you briefed on the Polunochnaya case?"

"Yes, back in London."

"Good," Six reached into the Hawaiian and withdrew a tiny voice recorder. "I caught every interview with every one of his colleagues – he worked at a small CNO station – there weren't many of them."

With discretion, he handed the machine to his subordinate. It was that moment, with his arm extended, did John catch sight of the livid bruise on the man's lower arm. The Londoner winced – that bruise had all potential and intent of turning into a shiner.

"What happened to your arm?"

"One of them... didn't cooperate."

"Lemme guess," John's mouth curled upwards. "Her name was Dipsy Tern?"

From behind the dark shades, both of Six's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"How did y-"

"Bonaparte and Oscar Wilde tried to interview her first last month. Befo' you got here. Tricked them into using the men's room and locked them in from the outside,"

"She outwitted Twenty-seven and Thirty-eight," An expression of bemusement registered on the man's face - not so much because the two of them were known to be Einsteins, but more so because she'd pulled the very same trick on him. It'd taken an hour for him to ram the door open with his side; Providence forbade the use of his katanas on public property.

It was moments like these that made Six wish he was born back in the day when assaulting a policeman was illegal.

"God, she must think we're stupid," John sighed, in his tone of voice he usually reserved for: 'I wish I could just smash something inside-out now'. The lack of a Marlboro did nothing to sweeten his personality. "I bet that bitch's at a bar right now, getting high and laughing at our arses."

"She's underage."

"She's hiding something, that's certain. But without evidence, Providence can't take her in. T'aint a crime to be a snarky little bitch."

"Maybe we can do something about it," Six suggested as he pulled, out from the depths of his Hawaiian, a receiver. U.S Providence consignment. John blinked.

"Is that...?"

"Slipped a bug in her jacket on her way out," Six noted. "Every word she says, every single sound she makes – we'll catch it."

And we'll catch her.

*****  
2.2. A brief history of the English CNO railroad.**

**Transcript of Recording 1 of Subject Dipsy Tern.  
10:34 PM.  
Subject addressing crowd of unknown size. **

Welcome, guys. Oi'm Dipsy.

_(Hello, Dipsy.)_

I'll be ye tourguide t'night – nothing special, just showin' ye 'bout the station... where _we keep the nanites_.

_(Awed silence.)_

Well, I'll start with the basics: CNO's fancy tolk fo' 'Cultured-Nanite-Oxygen' – highly combustable, but highly unstable. Ye won't want ye baby smellin' it.

_(Crowd chuckles)_

The railway uses CNO t' fuel the trains. Steam power, y'know? _Achuggachugga_? See, after the nanite event, Parliament outruled 'lectricity to be used in public tronspot. Active nanites travelled in 'lectricity, and 'tit became too dangerous to e'spose that many regular folks too 'em. So, all the 'lectric trains wound up being dumped on the Irish.

_(Loud laughter. Presumably, someone raises a hand.) _

Yes?

_(Female voice 1: Isn't it dangerous to be handling... nanites?)_

Fuck, yeah, it is.

_(Loud laughter. Subject appears to be blowing into something.)_

It's dangerous work, _(puff) _but we only work with _(puff)_ deactivated nanites, _(puff)_ and when we _(puff, puff)_ burn 'em, they denature – like this.

_(Wet farting sound. Presumably air let out from a balloon.)_

And they don't work anymore on t'human codon stream. No more messin' with our codons, no more EVOing people.  
...Yes?

_(Female voice 2: But there's no real solid proof denatured nanites don't affect humans. It's only theoretical.)_

Well, it's been theoretical for the last four yeahrs. In that time, we've transported billions of people on the trains safely. And, 'cording to the CNO Rail, enough tests've been done to s'pport the theory.

_(Female voice 2: But... What if the theory's wrong? What if it stops working?)_

Well, then, miss, _we_ stop working.  
On a plus side, The National Healthcare System gives out full pensions if ye ever mutate.

_(Uncomfortable, hollow chuckle.)_

Any more questions? Good. Then, follow me. This way.

*****  
2.3. India.**

It looked like a scene straight from a Bollywood film – only no one was dancing.

Above the dusty Indian streets, Rex hovered over what had been, just two hours ago, a festival procession. The cow at the very head of the parade had picked a brilliant time to go EVO.

"Rex," Doctor Holiday's voice crackled in his earpiece, "be careful!"

"I'm always careful, Doc," The boy assured her, before managing the aerial equivalent of a side-step, just out of reach of one of the cow's newly-grown tentacles. "You really oughta stop worrying."

"No, I mean be _care-_full – that cow may be an EVO now, but it's still sacred. The last thing Providence needs is another Asian PR problem."

The boy winced. Ouch. The last one, he still painfully recalled, involved (through absolutely no fault on Rex's part) the punching of a hole in the Great Wall of China, an endless chain of ensuing political debates, and a furious Agent Six tussling with a member of the Chinese Cultural Protection Board who'd decided it was a good idea to call the EVO boy a "_guaiwu_". No one back at base would explain to him what it meant, but he'd looked it up. It roughly meant 'freak'.

"_Begerak_, boy!" Rex looked over his shoulder, to where an anxious Madam Seven watched the scene from a rooftop. Next to her was Bobo, guns akimbo, and firing round after round at the painted back of the cow. "_BEGERAK_!'

He'd barely mouthed a 'WHAT?' in reply before a painted tentacle broadsided him, sending him spiralling through the air. The brown rooftops and the sky melted together in a dizzying blur before Rex felt his side connect to the ground. That was going to cost him a rib.

Or an arm, he discovered, experimentally flexing his right and feeling the telltale stabbing reflex of pain run up past his elbow. He hissed, trying to block out the sensation, forcing himself to think of the matter at hand. The EVO. Right. He forced himself to his feet groggily. What used to be the wings of his boogie pack cascaded off his back and onto the dirt road with an assortment of clangs and pings. His mind was still shaken, as if it'd received too much blood. He glanced about.

"You never listen to Madam!" Seven screeched at him from god-knew-where. "Madam says '_begerak_-move', you move, boy! You move!"

"How the heck was I supposed to know what bunnyrock meant?" He called out blindly to the air, still unsure of his bearings. He found them quickly, though, when a tentacle wound itself around his waist and lifted him into the air. The cow EVO released a mutant 'moo' of what Rex could only fathom was delight.

"That tears it,"

His injured right arm carefully tucked to his side, he slapped his left onto the leathery surface of the limb wrapped around his body. Channelling his mind and his nanites into curing the creature took just seconds – before he could think of screaming, he plummeted back to the ground, next to where an unconscious, sweaty, painted cow lay on its side.

"Rex!" With his ear pressed against the dirt road, Doctor Holiday's voice echoed like a wailing shriek. "Rex, talk to me!"

"III'm fine." His voice was shaking. He could taste the ground in his mouth. "Please, Doc, can we get pizza on the way home?"

"No pizza," Madame Seven's busty figure towered over him. Apparently, she'd made her way down from the roof. "Tonight you eat beans and milk. They will help fix your arm that break."

"You broke your arm?" Holiday's voice rose in a mixture of incredulousness and concern. "Oh, Rex..."

"I wasn't asking for _your_ opinion," He spat at his handler, falling short of adding 'bitch' to the sentence. "And I didn't break it, Doc," he attempted to wiggle his fingers, but was met with nothing but a slicing pain that ran up to his shoulder. He bit his lip. "At least I don't think it's a fracture..."

"C'mon kid," He discovered Bobo behind him, bracing his back into a sitting position. "Let's get you home."

"Home... to pizza...?" He ventured.

"Nu-uh, kid."

"Beans and milk," Madam Seven put her foot down sternly.

"Doc! Please," His allowed his voice to crack in that irresistible boyish way that never failed to win the Doctor over. "I had beans and milk on Tuesday!"

"Sorry, Rex," She sounded genuinely disappointed. "Orders are orders,"

His eyes narrowed. Seven could mess with his training, she could steal Bobo, she could follow him on missions and do nothing but yell at him, heck, he'd even let her slap him, but she couldn't – never, _never_ – screw with his food. Especially when it came to pizza. He worked hard – he deserved it. Six would've understood.

Six. His chest felt empty thinking of the man. He'd never missed his old handler so much in his life before. His mind flashed on the times they'd spent together – the first time Six bandaged his knee, the numerous times the man had saved his life, the tussle with the Chinese Cultural Protection jerk over that one word, "_guaiwu_". Six was ten times the parent Seven would ever be.

"Do you... do you know what I think of your orders?" He growled at his handler. His voice was rising, quivering, as he yanked the Doctor's earpiece out of his head, stood up, and elbowed Bobo to a side. "THIS IS WHAT I THINK OF YOUR STUPID BUNNYROCKING ORDERS, _PERRA_!"

In a single swift move, he brought his foot down on the earpiece and crunched it beneath his heel. Madam Seven's expression remained indifferent.

"I need to be alone."

His arm still pained him, but the empty spot in his chest where Six used to be hurt even more. With a grunt, he extended the wings of his boogie pack out from his back, kicked off, and flew as hard and fast as he could go into the air, pushing his wings to fly at an ache-inducing speed. He waited until he'd flown past the field of view of every single Providence airship at the site before he slowed down just enough to let his wings rest. He didn't look back.

Bobo stood shock-still, squinting at the sky, half-expecting a tiny black dot to reappear and tell him Rex would be back. This was all a misunderstanding – surely nobody would get that upset over pizza – but then again, Rex wasn't a nobody.

"Let the boy go," Madam Seven put her foot down to dismiss the tantrum, speaking both to the chimp and the Doctor through her earpiece. "Holiday, you make all flying units stand down. He needs the space he can find,"

There wasn't much left to be said. She made her way around the unconscious cow's body, down the dusty Indian mainstreet, and back to the airship that had lowered itself for her.

* * *

**A/N:** And - yay for People Get Ready's first ever action scene! I usually suck at them.

Oh, Rex, you poor sodding woobie. D: Seriously, you ran away just because no one would give you a stupid Italian pot pie? Real mature.  
(Sorry, guys, if his tantrum was in bad taste - it just seemed totally IC to make him upset over beans and milk. )

As for the foreign languages here, I had a little help from pals - I was this close to calling Rex a "gweilo" ("white-demon") but my sister pointed out that he wasn't caucasian. xD We wound up with "_guaiwu_" which is roughly Chinese for "monster" (not very original, but, pfft, it gets the job done) and "_Perra_" was from my friend's Spanish ab class (yes, you learn to swear in IB Spanish - when the teacher's not around). xD She figured that, if Rex could ever swear fluently, he'd do it _en español_.

Are you guys ready to meet the elusive Mr Polunochnaya? 8D He'll be popping up soon. (Or at least his voice will.)


	3. Tea, England and Guy

**A/N:** Back! And thanks again for all the wonderful comments! Since I can't really update a complete fict to thank everyone – I'll just do it here – thanks for all those reviews of _The Stars My Destination_. It really helped pull my weak little carcass out from under the artist's block.

So, hopefully, this'll help establish a regular posting order for this fict – from this chapter on, I'll be updating once a month on average (so if I don't update for one month, they'll probably be two updates the next).

Apologies for the Sixlessness here – I hope some Holiday makes up for it. Also, warning – non-canon origin story and some not-so thorough train research. :I And I just realised I stink at accenting Bobo's speech.

So... huzzah?

**EDIT -19/9/10:** BLARGH. I came down with the cold a few days ago - my joints ache. Oh, so badly. So, right now, I'm sitting in my favourite chair and typing. And idc, _typing_ is a form of exercise. :I Yes, yes it is.

So, heads up, chapter four might be late.

I suppose now's the time for me to tell you all an amazing piece of information – there IS no Generator Rex here in Singapore. xD Cartoon Network Asia hasn't bought it over yet! I watched all nine (there /are/ nine right now, right?) episodes online.

Harharharrrgh. Oh, I'm so obsessed.

Enough about me! Story time! What's your GenRex obsession story? C:

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*** * *  
3.1. Tea.**

_...under the Trahere Theory of attraction in which EVOs unconsciously sense and are drawn to the bioelectric and biomagnetic fields generated by similar organisms. The Theory accounts for 'herding' and 'pack'-lifestyle EVOs such as the Arizonian Wolfrat (ID: 53681) which hunt in organised family groups over large areas of territory..._

The computer was still running. A half-written lab report sat next to a scale of Rex's biometrics. Doctor Holiday watched it with willed interest, drinking the while from a cup that read 'WORLD'S BEST MOM'. The bottom of the mug had 'Merry Christmas, Dcr Hollidy, love, Rex' written in fading permanent marker by a shaky, twelve-year-old hand. The coffee had long since grown cold.

"You've been addit for days, Doc" The door's hydraulic hiss announced the arrival of Bobo. She didn't have to turn around to know Madam Seven was behind him. "Take a break, woman."

There was a gentle tinkling behind her, which, the Doctor realised, was Seven setting up a tiny china teaset on the table next to her.

"We bring drinks," Madam Seven announced, matter of factly, in a surprisingly Six-like drawl.

Seven was no Six, though. Had this been Six, he wouldn't come bearing tea... or Bobo, for the matter. He'd tell her curtly to go to bed, or bring a new complaint about Rex. Or, on most nights, he'd simply stand behind her, silently, protectively, until he became part of the room. Another wall she could lean on. In the days since Rex had run away, she'd found herself yearning for the man's company almost as much as the boy had.

"We bring drinks," Seven handed her a tiny teacup. It displaced the WORLD'S BEST MOM mug from her hands, which the Madam expertly ushered to a side. "What are you doing?"

"I'm scanning for EVO activity in the Asia-Pacific region. He might be drawn to other EVOs like him."

A silence.

"You are looking for the boy?" The Madam guessed correctly. "You do that later. You are tired, Doctor, you must rest now,"

"I don't think I can – White Knight's been relentless and we really, really do need Rex and..."

She droned off. The Madam was gargling her tea, sounding remotely like a cat being boiled alive. Without looking, she groped the floor for a wastepaper basket, and, finding one by Holiday's feet, brought it to her face and proceeded to empty her mouth into it:

_BLEAAAAAARGCHH._

The Doctor fought the urge to cringe. She put her teacup away untouched.

The Madam stood up and made to leave.

"You." She ordered, "Drink. Is good for you." Drink or gargle? Holiday said nothing. "I will talk to the White Knight about your working hours. You need a rest."

She sashayed out of the room, her saliva-embedded teacup the only reminder of what just happened. Holiday stared at the door.

"You don't like her much, do you?"

Perched on a table, Bobo sipped his tea, his pinky in the air. The Doctor cleared her throat.

"It's not... _that_. She's not a bad person."

"You rather have Six here, wouldn't you?"

"No..."

Bobo replaced his teacup on the saucer, like a judge would with his gavel.

"Fer cryin' aloud, woman – Rex is the world's crappiest liar and yer even worse than him!"

"Fine, fine" She admitted. "Fine. I'd rather Six hadn't left, I'd rather Rex would be in this room, asking me about my day and telling me my breasts looked good. I'd rather Six be here complaining about dinner, even complaining about Rex, asking me to sharpen his swords for him. I don't want to be drinking tea – God, I hate tea! I want coffee – I want... I..."

"...Yes...?"

"...I want everything back the way it was,"

Bobo scratched his arm, seemingly searching for ticks.

"I admire yer honesty, Doc," His voice was a mixture of hurt and relief. "I really do."

The Doctor bit her lip. "Bobo... I'm sorry." Her eyes drifted back to the WORLD'S BEST MOM mug. "I just miss my boys."

"Don't be – I was hopin ter get you to spill the beans eventually." Bobo swung his legs casually over the tabletop. "You looked like you were gonna asplode from all that pent-up rage and shit. Most people tell me they hate the Madam the day they meet her.

"It's like I'm the only one here who honestly likes her," he admitted.

Holiday found herself nodding.

"...Wanna know why?"

More nodding.

"Well... Who d'you think brought me to Providence in the first place?"

Oh.

"She busted up an entire underground EVO animal fighting ring just to do it, too," The chimp admitted proudly. "Just ran in there and started shooting everythin' on two legs. Like," he mimed firing two twin pistols. It was, Holiday realised, exactly the way he used guns himself. "The whole time, she was screaming 'None of you little bastards move!' She was amazing and... you know what I thought the moment she opened up my cage?"

The Doctor blinked again. Words were beyond her.

"I thought... gee... what a fucking swell angel of God above."

Bobo was probably the only person who could merge profanity and reverence together.

"She took down close to a hundred guys that night – all those kills pushed her all the way up into the Ten. Then, arthritis set in and she stopped working. But, just, early this year, I found out her husband died and that's why she started coming back to Providence. Being Rex's babysitter pays her bills."

"Bobo... I'm so sorry." Holiday admitted. In the five or so minutes Bobo had taken to finish his story, her guilt had doubled in size. "I didn't know... I..."

"Don't be," He assured her, filling an empty teacup as he did. Holiday took it graciously, finding, to her surprise, warm coffee inside.

"Just drink yer tea."

*** * *  
3.2.1. England.**

"S'cuse me,"

Had his earpiece still been in his ear, he'd probably have heard Doctor Holiday's voice telling him his biometrics were ungodly low. He didn't have to hear it from her, though. He could feel it. He'd long lost the ability to make a smackhand with his right arm. Instead, however, any attempt to flex his fingers had greeted him with the worst pins and needles he'd ever felt in his life.

"S'cuse me, hey kid?

The boogie pack had broken down from fatigue days ago, just hours before he crossed the border into what, he'd eventually found out, was France. By then, he was too thoroughly lost to find the way home... Not that he'd felt the need to. Providence, in his mind, had become analogous with Madam Seven.

"S'cuse me? Kid?"

Tonight, he was bound to Nowhere in Particular, sharing a train carriage with assorted baggage and a man who smelled of bathlessness and soiled clothes. He'd done a brilliant job ignoring the hobo. But, then again, Rex sniffed at his sweat-stained clothes, he wasn't looking all that hot himself.

Finally, he relented: "Yes?" He turned to the drifter.

"Yer one of 'em... whazzat called again...?"

"EVOs?" Rex chanced.

"Yes! By jove, yer one of em!"

Rex said nothing, just nursed his arm. He wasn't too worried about blowing his cover, not to a man who didn't even have a passport. Hours before, what little powers he'd had had commanded the baggage compartment door ajar. He sat watching the countryside roll by in a black and yellow blur.

It was late, the houses had their lights on. He imagined all the families below – did they look anything like in the Family Planning brochures? A father in a business suit, home from work, the mother, always in an apron, fetching the roast from the oven. There'd be kids, of course – two children – one boy, one girl, in matching coloured shirts, waiting at the table for dinner, or, in some brochures, hugging their parents. The very image of perfection.

When he was younger, Rex habitually stole Family Planning brochures from the Providence social worker's office. It was the age when other kids were sharing porn – he'd gotten enough satisfaction just from envisioning himself in a family. They'd always looked so warm. So... perfect.

He drew little triangular goatees on the fathers. With a little imagination, they looked like Six.

"You better be careful, kid," Said the drifter. "That last checkpoint there? It means we're in England now and they don't take kindly to freaks there."

"Thanks," He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or offended. Unthinkingly, he drew his legs to him and held them close. The rhythm of the train rocked him to sleep.

*** * *  
3.2.2. Guy.**

The pain shooting up his arm snapped him awake. Someone had forced his wrists into cuffs. His face was pressed to the metallic floor.

"Nobody move. This's an inspection."

The door to the carriage was open wide, framing a tiny man in overalls and a hat that read 'C.N.O'. He'd had the hobo pinned to a back wall, an electric shotgun pointing strategically to his stomach.

"Passports?" The train inspector asked rhetorically. Rex found himself shaking his head.

"How many've ye are there?" The inspector raised a brow. The drifter whined low and afraid.

"Two," Rex managed.

"Two, eh? Never had so many in a night for a while," The inspector mused, "most of ye 'omeless jerks aren't stupid enough to open the doors and sit where everyone can see ye,"

In his mind, Rex facepalmed himself. This was all his fault. "Sorry," He apologised, noticing the drifter's eyes boring into him with hatred.

"Don't 'sorry' me, boy – save that fo' the police."

So, this was it, then. His great runaway adventure ended with a broken arm, a police record and a night in a cell before Providence came for him in the helicopter. Seven would, no doubt, yell at him. Why you never listen to Madam, boy? He could almost imagine mouth flapping in front of him, her breath hot and overbearing on his face.

Never.

He twisted his neck and inspected the cuffs. They were the old fashioned sort that locked together with tumblers, but not old enough to forgo that little electronic keypad that replaced keys a few years back. Electronic. Just up his alley.

The telltale blue lines ran down his arm, and, a second of beeping and clicking later, his cuffs fell away from his wrist, still dangling, annoyingly, to his right. He brought his arm painfully back into position and made to leave.

From where he stood, the inspector's head swivelled.

"HEY!"

Rex didn't have to be asked, with a speed he hadn't felt in days, he pushed his legs to run.

"GET BACK HERE!"

The night wind slapped at his face as his boots crunched on gravel. The station lights glowed like a beacon and he willed his legs to keep going, to find footing on the linoleum station floor. He hastily pushed through the midnight turnover of train commuters, jumping over benches, winding around corners. People were screaming, of course, assorted 'hey's and 'what was that's', but he couldn't stop to answer them.

"STOP HIM!" The inspector screamed from behind him.

It wasn't safe here, not now. His sides were heaving as he pressed past the station completely, past the waiting platforms, past doors that held offices behind them, past bronze displays of trains long since retired, and, finally, with a great heaving relief, out into the night on the other side.

It was quiet. The air was chilly enough to make him draw his jacket close around his neck. Tracks and gravel spiderwebbed off into a distance, framed, for a short while, by what looked like a row of small aircraft hangars.

The sign he'd just passed was clearly labelled 'No Visitors Past This Point', but, like most figures of authority in his life, Rex casually ignored it.

_Rex. _

He blinked. Who said that?

_I did. Over here._

It went against all his training to follow random voices, but he was too tired to argue. Besides, he'd accept any place he could hide right about now. Cradling his arm, and watching for the handcuff still dangling from it, he carefully picked his way towards the little hangars.

_Get the door. The first one. There's the word A.1 on it, right?_

He didn't answer, opting instead, to will the door open with the usual flourish of blue circuitry-esque lines. It slid upwards with a gentle hiss.

_Nice._ The voice sounded awed. Despite himself, a smile worked its way into Rex's features.

The interior was dark and shadowy, but, oddly enough, roomy. What little light that came in fell on greasy tools hanging from the walls. Rex looked about: a workman's desk with a half-eaten burger on it, overalls with 'C.N.O' printed on the seats, a laminated layout of the station. In a far corner, a large bulky mass stretched into the shadows.

As the pneumatic door hissed shut, Rex noticed two lamp-like red eyes regarding him. He stiffened. He'd seen eyes like that before. Biowulf had them, and so did nearly every other semi-mechanical EVO he'd punched in the face.

_Wait! Please, don't be afraid of me. I'm called Guy. _

_I'm sorry John chased you like that... he's just doing his job. Please, I've got a friend who can sneak you out of the station tomorrow. You don't seem like the kind of guy who deserves to be locked up. _

Years of training had forced him to be suspicious of moments like these, however, he found himself oddly relieved at this statement. But... Guy? What kind of name was that?

_You're name's Rex. What kind of name is that? _

Touché.

_You're name _is _Rex, right? Not Six, not Holiday, not Bobo, not Noah?_

The moment was too bizarre for him to do much more than shake his head. Whoever that voice belonged to was definitely reading his mind, and, oddly enough, Rex wasn't offended.

_Oh... Good, because, for a moment, you almost looked like a Bobo. _

"You're a funny guy, Guy," Rex admitted, "for an EVO." None of the other EVOs had much of a sense of humour.

_You... can tell?_

"You're talking to me through my brain. Dude. That's not normal."

_Oh. Well... You know you can sit down, right?_

He accepted the invitation, falling ungainly and graciously to the greasy concrete floor. His feet were killing him. Across the room, the eyes glowed softly. Rex found himself staring, transfixed, wondering how the owner of those eyes would look like in daylight.

_Please don't look at me!_

"Okay," He backed off, startled.

_I'm sorry. I... didn't always have to hide like this. _

"Join the club. My boss locks me in a building." He admitted, to soften the mood. It took him a moment to realise he was divulging and doing stuff that he was, under mountains of paperwork and consent forms, forbidden to ever try. He'd been this open with Van Kleiss the first time they'd met and that had ended perfectly swell. However this was... different. Whoever Guy was, Rex felt inclined to trust him.

_I'm glad you don't think I'm... _

"...a freak?"

_Yes. I appreciate it. _

The headlight eyes dimmed. Within minutes, a light, grinding snore came rumbling from Guy's corner.

For the second time that night, Rex fell asleep. His dreams were overrun with blurry images of families with roast, fathers, mothers, and a short stocky girl with a gap in her teeth.

_...the best dad ever...  
...Stay away from her! Or I'll...  
...don't be afraid of me...  
...I like your face; you have a nice face...  
...what's happened to you? _

The girl with a gap in her teeth grinned at him, in different outfits and various hairstyles. He watched her grow up: in a sundress, playing with a grasshopper; in ripped jeans, toasting a beer; in overalls, covered in grease. He didn't spend long wondering who she was, however – he was snapped awake by the clicking of an electronic rifle being loaded.

He glanced about, daylight had worked its way into the workshed, lighting up everything in a soft yellow glow. However, Guy, in his far corner, was still a dark shadow, both his red eyes closed. In the doorway, bright morning sunlight filtered past a figure standing over him, rifle aimed at his chest. The letters 'CNO' were printed on her cap.

"Geddup, EVO boy," The girl with a gap in her teeth snarled. "If ye did annything to Guido, Oi swear Oi'm going to fucking ruin ye daye."

Not again.

* * *

**A/N:** Dipsy's back!  
Pssht. Yes, when it comes to Rex, I'm such a terrible sadist. xD

Some trivia: _Trahere _is the root word for 'Track', like 'train track'. Because everything goes back to trains here, doesn't it? XD  
**  
EDIT: **I just realised that the 'permanent marker' line sounded an awful lot like the 'Sharpie' line from jessica499499's oneshot, 'Hollow'. Gargh. It was completely unintentional... but I do recommend giving it a read.


	4. Chica and Roundhouse, Angel

**A/N: **

**1/12/10 **– Argh! Finally! Chapter four's done! Latelatelate! Sorry this is so late, guys. Some of the scenes here have been written and rewritten so many times I've lost count. Researching for this chapter has been fun, tiring and maddening, plus now the librarians at the reference library can recognize my face!

Thanks so much for still reading this - I get this wonderful tingly feeling inside whenever I see someone added this to thier story alert or posted a review. I really, really can't thank you enough for sticking to the story.

You know, I never knew what the flying heck I was getting into until I started reading about trains. From Oscar Wilde to American Folk legends, seriously, learning about trains seems to deriviate into just about everything.

Soo... you guys want some trivia? (There'll be a new fun fact each month with each update!)

And - _Question of the month!_ What's the craziest thing you let yourself do in a library? Post it in the comments!

* * *

**FUN FACT:** According to the 1896 Truck Act, workers on the British Rail would be fined for swearing or "the use of abusive or offensive language while on duty". Dipsy and her constant abuse of the f-word must be glad to be living in the 21st century!

* * *

*** * *  
4.1.1. **_**Chica**_

"Oi'm seriissley warning you, EVO boy," The girl threatened around the barrel of her shotgun. "Get up."

Rex weighed his options. The weapon in question was an electric shotgun –

"Oi'm countin' to three,"

It ran on batteries and fired red lasers –

"One,"

He could easily be the boss of it –

"Two,"

But, in the few seconds or so it'd take him to get up and place his hand on it, she could've just as easily pulled its trigger –

"Thr-"

"Okay, okay! Take it easy, _chica_," he surrendered both his hands into the air, just as he'd been taught. Always cooperate with authority, Rex, Six had said, your life gets less screwed up that way.

He was on the floor of a what he could only guess was a kind of garage, in a country without a passport, with a broken handcuffed arm, a gun pointing roughly to his head, and an EVO he couldn't see. If anything, his life was the epitome of 'screwed'. He had to admit, he hadn't been following the man's advice all that well.

"Get up!"

He rose to his feet. Back erect, he was nearly two heads taller than her, his chest on par with her eyes. She, Rex began to see, didn't look much older than him. However, the gun barrel stayed calmly still as it followed his face upwards.

"Whots ye name?" Her voice was stiff.

In a prepared emotionless enunciation, he clicked:

"Rex."

"Just... Rex?"

"Just Rex,"

"Whoddyedo to Guy?" She pressed, the barrel poking into his chin. "I cahn't hear 'im in me 'ead,"

_GROWWAARGH._

Two red eyes shot open from the far corner of the workshop. The girl flinched. Out slipped the gun from her sweaty fingers, butting against the concrete floor and going off as it did. The resounding bang was no match for Guy's next shriek:

_AIIIIIEEEERRRGH._

Rex cupped his hands over his ears, which did nothing to stop the voice bouncing around in his skull.

"Guy!" She gasped, rushing over to lean by the larger EVO. "Guy! Guido! Snap out of it!" She ran her hands over the body, stroking hurriedly to calm it.

"L-let me help him,"

"You'll make it worse!" She snapped. "Guy, it's me, Dipsy! C'mon, you're going to be okay,"

The screaming had turned into to a mad bellow, shaking flecks of plaster from the ceiling the rumbling the ground beneath his feet. "What's going on?" He glanced around at the shaking shadowy room.

"I don't know! I don't know!" The girl cried aloud, head in her hands, scrabbling to comfort the large EVO.

Dashing over to where she stood, Rex hurriedly laid his good left arm on the EVO's body. Under his fingers it felt cold and metallic. The familiar flood of nanites ran down his arm and into the panicking EVO, the warm comforting feeling he was so used to taking control...

He stopped.

There were more nanites inside Guy than he'd ever seen in his life. Rushing back up his arm with a vengeance, the active nanites crashed like a wave into his mind. There was nothing but darkness, black and debilitating and blocking out every sense he had. Screaming and clutching his temples, he broke free and felt the floor slap against his back as he fell.

"Ahmigod." The girl's awed whisper the first thing he heard as his mind slowly drifted back into focus.

_Diiiiiipsy?_

"GUY!" Rex blinked as his vision gently restored itself. The girl's arms were thrown around the dark mess that was the EVO. "Guido Pulonochnaya, please don't ever do that to me again!"

_You... You've met Rex?_

Guido's voice rang out in his head again, gentle and, most importantly sane. Rex took it as his cue to wave a dazed greeting to no one in particular. "Fuck, yeah." The girl replied, in the same odd whisper she'd used before.

"So, you're name's Dipsy?" Rex propped himself up on his elbows as he looked her up and down. She looked more like a Penelope to him, or a Cheri. What kind of a name was Dipsy? Had he missed the memo rechristening England as the Land of Shitty Names or something?

"Shuttup," Dipsy crossed her arms and growled, displaying that gap in her tooth that he'd seen in his dream. "Trespassin' into the roundhourse's against the law. Oi'm takin' ye to the stationmaster."

_Dipsy! No!_

"Fine, fine, Oi'll take 'im to the sweatmaster!"

_Not what I meant._ Guido made a noise somewhere between a chuckle, a snort and a sigh. _He was wandering about the station last night. He doesn't have passport, Jack almost caught him. He's hurt his arm._

"Guido Pulonochnaya!" Dispy looked from one EVO to the next. "Yo're madder than a march hare with a boner."

_Haha, come on, Dips. He's a nice guy._ For an EVO that had just suffered a maddening panic attack just minutes before, Guy was recovering his sense of humour like a professional.

"NO."

"Don't I get a say in this?" He hazarded meekly.

"NO!" Dipsy sent him a withering look before turning to the glowing red eyes of the EVO behind her. "Just because you want to 'elp ev'ry other EVO you find doesn't mean I have to 'elp you too," She added.

_Dipsy,_ Guy began, _you saw what he did with the nanites. He's not just every other EVO. He's... something else._

"Something else?" She scratched her chin as she looked him over, making a circle around him as she did. Rex shifted uncomfortably. "Well... he doesn't _look_ like a regular EVO,"

_So he can stay?_

"'Till we figure out what to do with 'im," She grudgingly agreed. "I'll take 'im with me,"

_He can sleep on my old bed at the house. _Guido volunteered. Dipsy narrowed her eyes, as if Guido had given up her own bed.

"Fine, fine," She grunted. "Call yerself lucky, boy,"

She reached her foot next to her shotgun on the ground, and in a practised fluid movement, flipped it up into her hands. Rex smiled despite himself, impressed at the trick. "Think you could teach me to do that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Move," She motioned with the gun for him to follow her out of the shed.

_Don't worry,_ Guido assured him. _Just listen to her boss you around for a while, and ask her for the first aid kit when you get home. She'll warm up eventually._

*****  
4.1.2. Roundhouse**

They used a different door than the one Rex had taken into the garage. Dipsy swiped a card through a slot before clicking it open.

The first thing Rex noticed was the music, a jumpy little Jazz number that he wouldn't've hesitated to dancing to back at Providence. It drifted over the sleeping bodies of trains, just under a domed glass ceiling. Someone was whistling in tune to Frank Sinatra on the radio as he raked black ashy sludge from under a train. His gun, just like Dipsy's, was laid out carefully on the ground within his reach.

"Raking out the ashpan, George?" Dipsy greeted him with a spring in her step.

"Don't look so cheery, Dips – you're up for washing out the 4F later this afternoon."

"Dang," She scrunched up her face in irritation. "I got school in the aft'noon. No chance you'll do it for me?"

"No way in hell," the man grunted as the Frank Sinatra song ended for an advertisement jingle for a candy bar Rex had never heard of. Dipsy, still occupied with skiving her duty, hadn't noticed the change in music. Rex took the opportunity to explore, craning his head like a curious puppy to take it all in.

There must've been twenty trains, probably more, in the large roundish room Dipsy had called the 'Roundhouse'. The trains, or at least their fronts, were arranged like the spokes of a wheel, radiating out from special tracks. The air was heavy with steam, punctuated by shafts of sunlight from the skylights.

His knee hit a table and he yelped in surprise. A little paper sticker read out: PULONOCHNAYA, GUIDO. Guy's table. Though the EVO in the next room probably hadn't much use for the table, it had been used and kept clean – the tools were arranged in neat little rows and the table wiped free of dirt. A framed photograph of a dark-haired man with the straightest nose Rex had ever seen giving a piggyback to a little girl commanded a corner of the table. He held it to his face and recognised Dipsy's gap-tooth in the little girl's mouth.

"Get away from that," Dipsy, seven-or-so years older, yanked the picture from his hands and replaced it on the table with a scowl that could curdle milk.

Rex crossed his arms. If she got to boss him around, he'd allow himself some answers. "Guido's like... you brother or something?"

"None of ye business,"

"This is my business – I just want to get this," he brandished his handcuffed wrist before her face, "this thing off me and go live my life! But no! I get be stuck in a train station with a creepy... EVO thing... and a girl that has to turn everything into a drama where she can't trust a soul!"

"You quite done?" Dipsy had crossed her arms, mirroring his stance.

"Yes,"

"Good," She said, an edge of defiance to her voice. "Now, check your wrist."

He lifted up his right arm gently, feeling the lightness of it for the first time what felt like forever. The handcuff lay, cracked open like an egg, on the table. Dipsy smiled at him, smugly triumphant. "Better?"

"How'd—"

"The cuffs belong to the rail company. They teach up to deactivate them." She picked up her gun from where she'd laid it on the floor and signed for him to follow. "C'mon. The faster we fix that hand, the faster I can ditch ye."

*****  
4.2. Angel**

"Tell me something I don't know," Six snarled irritably. His reflection in the shop window disgusted him, Hawaiian-print shirt and all. Even his broad shoulders, the one feature of his body he was secretly pleased with, and the one which his suit seemed to accentuate, were all but drowned out in the deadening folds of merry pink and blue fabric.

He inched closer to the glass, looking at the shirt with a sense of scrutiny gleaned from years in an interrogation room. To his disgust, what he'd mistaken for flowers in the dim light of his hotel room were, in fact, tiny little Santa Clauses. _Golfing_ tiny little Santa Clauses. Frozen in mid-putt. He curled his lip in disgust.

"I said, tell me something I don't already know, John,"

"Turtles can fly," his mission-assigned partner grunted instantly. Six made his contempt known with a carefully raised, dagger-edged eyebrow.

"Well, they can," John Henry shrugged, "if you gave it a jetpack."

Bursts of Rex-related memories festered before his vision. Rex strapping explosives to an ostrich-esque EVO ("To see if I could... y'know... make it fly...?"), Rex flying through Providence airspace for the first time ("This has to be the coolest thing I ever remembered to do-o-o-_woaah_!")...

He shook his head to clear it. He'd been missing Rex much more than he'd realised.

A cold draft cut through the thin fabric of the Hawaiian-print. John turned up the collar of his jacket, and Six shuddered like a madman. He was missing his suit jackets, too.

"Should've packed a coat," John smiled, the lift of his lips betraying just a hint of smugness. "London's cold even in summer." In addition to his chaffed lips, John Henry had a rough-looking face, hardened yet toughly doughy. He looked like a rapper, spoke like a prime minister, and had the nicotine-stained fingers of a veteran chain smoker.

He fingered the fleece collar of his jacket, just under his ear. "I always pack a coat," He repeated, as if afraid Six hadn't had heard.

Another wind. Six suppressed another rising shudder, no point in looking any stupider than he had to. "I'll rr-remember that the next time I'm as-s-ssigned a mission and given five minutes to pack," He retorted. He didn't remember even having time to say goodbye, not to Holiday, not to Rex... He wasn't even sure who was filling in for him as Rex's guardian. He'd simply emptied the box of Providence-provided 'civilian outfits' into a suitcase and hopped on the first jet to England – who else would've known the whole box had been filled with nothing but Hawaiian-prints?

"Tell me something I don't know," He repeated once more, this time with enough menace in his voice to get John to take out a clipboard and flip through its contents. The wind blew them flat against the board, but Six could clearly make out the cream-pink colour of citizenship certificates and the name 'Dipsy Tern'. At least his partner had done his research.

Dipsy Tern, it didn't even sound like a real name. More like the name of a villainous Muppet.

"Well, did you know Tern's not her real name?"

Apparently, this villainous Muppet had been under witness protection.

"Who was she before?" He raised a brow.

"No idea," John shrugged and sidestepped clear of a boy on a skateboard. "That's classified even for Providence."

"Can't we get access to the crime library?"

"Think I haven't tried? We can't get in, at least, not without, like, twelve signatures and a month of waiting."

The irritation was clear on his face, Six didn't press further. "What else did you find?"

"Well, the name Dipsy Tern doesn't go farther back than eight years ago. I have adoption papers saying Tern was under social services for a month and then she was adopted by..." He paused, possibly for effect. Six's brow creased with annoyance, he could never stand theatricality.

"Who?"

"Guido Pulonochnaya."

You could almost hear the glass smash.

"Wait – Pulonochnyaya's her father?" He blinked. "Why didn't we know about this before?"

John flipped the pad. "No one we interviewed told us."

"They didn't know either," Six thought aloud.

"Or they're all in cahoots with the little bitch," John whispered suspiciously. "They're all hiding with her,"

The plot was definitely thickening. Six scratched at his goatee. "That's more than enough to get a warrant to look into Dipsy in the crime library-"

He never finished, the sentence cut off by an explosion of assorted screams. What looked like the most bulbous centipede to ever exist oozed up the steps of a London tube station. A gristled mane of spines fired round after round of needles over the heads of fleeing commuters.

"The hell—"

"EVO attack! John, clear the area!" Six called out, yanking his katanas out from under the Santa Claus Hawaiian and breaking into a run.

He pushed himself clear off the ground, slicing a clean tear across the beast's spiny mane with a katana as he landed. His legs smarted from the impact and he quickly steadied himself for another charge. This time, the worm came prepared, spreading its jaw open to bare its teeth.

Its mouth looked like the inside of a fleshy washing machine drum, twitching, grinding and smelling like decay, flecked with more spiny teeth than Six wanted to imagine. Screeching, it lunged for him, Six dashed out of the way, feeling the wind from its attack skim his face. He gripped his sword tighter as the EVO bit into a mouthful of roadside.

_C'mon, c'mon_... He danced farther from the pavement and into the road where the traffic has thankfully begun to halt. If he could only just lead this thing away from the crowd—

_Splat_!

Grey-red bodily fluid smattered his face as John Henry's hammer mashed into the creature's head. It staggered, retching, before bristling wildly like an angry cat. It charged again, displaying its manic thorny mouth as it roared in pain. John's hammer rose in his grip as he prepared for another blow.

"John! No!"

"NO?" John gasped, aghast, giving the worm enough time to tackle him down into the asphalt. He swung his hammer upwards, into its chin, sending the EVO rearing back in pain. Back on his feet, John's hammer scored another blow into the creature's side.

"John, stand down! We're not supposed to kill it!"

John froze, his arms raised in mid-swing, the EVO already reduced to a heavily-breathing, bleeding mess on the road by his feet.

"Stand down! That's an order."

Grudgingly, his partner's hammer disappeared back into his jacket. "That thing's not fit to live," He snarled, kicking the EVO's panting side.

"It could've been a person," Six warned, his fingers already on the earpiece communicator he habitually wore. "Six and Thirteen to Providence, requesting EVO pickup in the area nearby..."

"Angel," John Henry offered, tilting his chin towards the London tube station the creature had crawled out from.

"Angel," Six repeated into his earpiece, before letting go of the call half-heartedly. He already knew in the back of his mind, like the family of a man being loaded into an ambulance, that it was too late to save the EVO's life. Under his breath, he wished that whatever that EVO once was, it'd be going somewhere fortunate.

He wished instead of prayed. Religion always made him uncomfortable.

A curious crowd had already gathered around the wreckage of their fight. Annoyed and lacking a better thing to do, John Henry began to shoo them off with elaborate waves of his arms. Six, however, kept silent, wishing Rex had been there.

* * *

**A/N:** John Henry, you piece of crap. :I

The next chapter, with some luck, will be up before the end of December. Thanks for being so patient!

And, yes, Golfing Santa print shirts are real! They're hilarious and seriously look like pink flowers from a distance.

Oh, yes! Guys, if you're interested in seeing some concept art for this story - check out my devinatart account: (wanlingnic(dot)deviantart(dot)com) (Alternatively, it's the 'Homepage' link on my profile.)


	5. Strappin', Lost

**7/6/11** - Hello again, People Get Ready, it's about time I cleaned some of those cobwebs away from you. You were looking awfully dusty. So much for one chapter a month.

If you're still reading this fict, my unending thanks and undying gratitutde and all those other things that go along with thanks! I owe you my world, my life, and an ice-cream waffle. (Seriously. If you live nearby (I'm in Singapore) just drop me a line. I'll take you out for Waffletown, my treat.)

So, question of the month - What do you put on your waffles?

There are, if you checked my computer, five alternate versions of this chapter - one of which became chapter 6 which'll be out next week - which might explain why this took so long. In the end, I just gave up and went with this. It's short, but it's also funny. I know I had a good giggle writing this. xD With a little luck, I hope you do too.

No Holiday or Six this time - they'll be there in the next chapter. I promise! ;)

* * *

The London Underground (which'll show up in the next chapter) is the first underground subway system in the world - it was originally thought impossible since the enclosed steam trains would steam all the passengers to death like lobsters.

The trains used in the Underground when it first opened in 1863 were still steam trains, but instead of letting the steam out, the steam was condensed back into water and boiled again. This condensation engine method worked until 1890 when electric trains took over.

* * *

*** * *  
****5.1. Strappin'**

The station yard seemed an awful lot smaller by day, when he wasn't running for his life. Rex took the opportunity to stretch, only to feel a sharp pain stab through his arm - his right was still sore.

The morning sun filtering through the clouds was weaker than the diluted coffee back at Providence. Still, Rex found himself wiping sweat from under his collar. He couldn't remember the last time he showered. The nape of his neck was on sweaty fire.

The girl they called Dipsy trotted ahead of him, jumping with practiced precision over tracks that looked like they hadn't been use in a while. For lack of anything better to do, he followed her bouncing head of curls, trying his best not to trip over anything on the way.

They marched in silence for what seemed like hours. Eventually, the fist-sized grey rocks underfoot turned into gravel, and the shade of the station's shadow covered his tired shoulders. Rex breathed out, relieved.

They stepped off the rocky gravel and onto the tiled floor of the station. They were on a platform, the kind people usually waited at for trains. The iron walls were a mix of industrial brown paint and the greenish rust that had resiliently poked through. Rex looked about, recognising the place from the night before - he'd pushed passengers aside on the very platform, trying to outrun whoever placed the cuffs on him. The morning had emptied it considerably, though. The platform was barren, save for a little old lady in an anorak who put her e-newspaper down to wave gently at them both.

Dipsy waggled her fingers back.

"Why, Dipsy, you little scamp, you," The woman's voice trembled with cheek. "Who's ye strappin' young friend? You never tol' me ye had a- "

"He not my boyfriend, he not," Dipsy growled. "I don' know 'im,"

"Then why is he foll'win ye like a sad li'l loss duckie?"

"I found 'im," Dipsy crossed her arms, her teeth, Rex noticed, were grinding. "He not my boyfriend."

"If ye say so, love," The woman chuckled, and went back to her paper, leaving Dipsy bristling like a cornered cat.

Rex kept his distance, grinning madly and sputtering from keeping his laughter to himself. "You gotta admit," He finally allowed himself to say, mimicking the accent, "I am kinda _strappin'_,"

Dipsy's teeth ground together audibly. Even she, Rex supposed, had to admit he was attractive. There weren't a lot of girls that could resist his patented brand of good looks and charm. Circe, Cricket, even Annie, that girl from Noah's school prom... he'd left a lovely long string of broken hearts behind, just like a trained Don Juan, and he wasn't even sixteen yet. Not bad at all.

"Dipsy! Who's ye friend?"

A teenaged girl was waving to them from behind a glass-panelled window. The two of them, he noticed, had arrived at the ticketing office. The front entrance wasn't far away - an enticing arched portal, glowing with the great outdoors. He stared at it longingly. The thought of leaving the clustered little train station behind and getting his aching broken arm fixed was far too attractive.

Dipsy must have noticed it too - and, sensing an opening to extract her vengeance, she leaned against the ticketing counter, her nose inches from the glass, and began to talk.

"Ooh, 'im?" She smiled what, Rex believed, might have been the cruelest smile ever known to grace the human face. "He's Rex, and he's with me, he is. Ain't ye, Rex?"

Rex's mouth was too open with indignation to reply.

"Oh, yes, but enough abou' 'im, Sasha," She giggled artificially. In all his experience, Rex knew, this could only mean one thing:

Girl Talk.

With a capital G.

"So we were a' that place, that 'Harrods dump, an' George - Blimey Dipsy ye should've been there! - he takes out his bag and - you know what's inside the bag...?"

"A BAG!"

"YES!"

Assorted 'eeeeeeeees' echoed off the rusty ceiling. Rex rolled his eyes and rested his head against the back of a bench. He might as well get comfortable. This, he sighed, was going to take a while.

*** * *  
****_5.2. Lost_**

_He was sleeping. He was quite sure of it. _

_Even though he was at exact train station, a notion tickled the back of his mind. This isn't real, it told him. This isn't your life. _

_It was right, of course. He looked up. The vaulted ceiling, he noticed, was considerably less rusty, and the brown paint covered the metal uniformly, barely even blistering. When _was_ this? He blinked. _

_The crowd began to pour in; men in suits and bowler hats, men in green turtle-necked engineer outfits, women in power suits, schoolchildren in blazers and pinafores... No one noticed him as he wound through the commuters. He rested a hand on a man's shoulder - nothing. They couldn't feel him. _

_With a great announcement of hissing, a train screeched to a halt, shedding smoke onto the platform. Despite the knowledge that this was all a dream, Rex found himself coughing. _

_And then he saw her. _

_A little girl with a gap in her teeth. _

"_Dipsy!" He called, then remembered. This was a dream. She couldn't hear him. _

_Little-girl-Dipsy had begun to cry - great heaving sobs that seemed to squeeze her chest dry. Rex stepped between a pair of gossiping businesswomen, wiggling for a closer look. _

"_You're lost, aren't you?"_

_A man was kneeling down beside her, to look her in the eye. He had to - he was incredibly tall, and she seemed barely a day beyond six. Rex leaned in, looking the man up and down. He wasn't dressed up - his engineers outfit was smeared and smudgy with grease. But his features were immaculate, handsome, even, despite the fact that he seemed near-fourty. He had a nose like a perfect triangle, sloping straight from his forehead, and set between two worried-looking eyebrows. His hair was the colour of warm sand, curling behind his ears, stopping gently at his shoulders. But the one startling detail about the man were his eyes. _

_They were glowing bright red._

"_You're not mommy," Dipsy stammered, matter-of-factly. She didn't seem scared of his height, or his glowing eyes. If anything, Rex guessed, she was more afraid of being lost. He knew the feeling. _

"_Yup, definitely lost." _

Don't be scared you little dipstick. _He stroked her hair soothingly. His mouth, Rex noticed, hadn't moved this time._ I won't hurt you.

I'm Guido._ He said, squeezing her hand. _Don't worry, I know what your mom looks like.

_He blinked. The eyes were brown. _

"_Come on, let's go find her."_


	6. Kids, Park N' Ride and A Train to Catch

**3/8/2011** - Seeing as this is Chapter 6, I saw it fitting we open off with everyone's favourite McNinja. c: Expect Holiday next time, and some Mdm Seven. Also, from now on, I'll officially be updating bi-monthly. Isn't this exciting?

I think I literally spend hours on this stupid fict – large, bulky sections of my life have been forever erased and sacrificed to the fanfiction gods so that I may regurgitate this story to you…

…And yet, none of it ever gets online.

Maybe I'm being overly critical of my stuff. I've rewrote this damned chapter no less than five times. It infuriates me in a way no sane human being should be infuriated. :I Dammit.

Still, researching for this fict has always been hilariously fun. Just last week, though, they've replaced the librarians at the reference section with the sort that keep telling you not to sit on the carpet – you know the kind. They say you're 'blocking the aisles' even when it's an hour to closing and no one's in the library save for you. They stare at you through thick, black glasses chained to their pencil-thin necks with eyes that can bore holes into the fabric of time, and, with inscrutable expressions, they judge you.

By GOD do they judge you. :I

Still, I guess it could be worse. They could've reordered the shelves… and I'd automatically go to, maybe, the erotica section instead of the vehicles one… Maybe I'd be studying from a book of steamy fun instead of steam engines and maybe I'd never even realise it. O.o

The horror.

And_ Question of the month!_ - What was the most fun you've ever had while breaking the rules?

* * *

**Fun fact (are these things ever fun?):** The Orient Express is one of the most recognizable trains in the mass media, but it never went to the 'Orient'. The furthest east the Express' line ever took it was to Istanbul, Turkey. The Express serviced the European cities like London, Paris, Venice and Athens – it never went to Asia itself.

* * *

**6.1. Kids**

Six received the call from the Bristol office at three in the morning. In the dim hotel light, the phone looked like a small white fire, ready to burn his fingers off.

Groggily, he pressed the answer button, and took the news.

John Henry was already awake by the time he finished. Six looked at him through his shades curiously, then out the window. The London sky had already lightened into a vague gray. It matched his mood.

"Fine, I'll tell him, thanks." He ended the call, before turning to the large man now brushing his teeth.

"The EVO at Angel station's dead," He muttered, not bothering to be dramatic. "Internal bleeding. He never made it to the Providence station."

John nodded, then reared his head and gargled. He spat loudly, like he was emptying his entire gullet into the sink. "Why are you telling me this?"

"They wanted me to thank you."

"Guy had it coming to him," The dark man smiled, satisfied. "Wonder if I get a promotion for that," He chuckled. Six saw his shoulder shake with mirth.

"He was a person, John!" Six snapped. "His name was Peter Waterbury; he had a family, three kids. He was an accountant. They found his wallet in his mouth – he still kept the pictures of his kids in it."

Six took a deep breath.

"He was a person, John, and you killed him."

John Henry looked unfazed, his expression no warmer. "Are you accusing me of murder, Six?" With Six seated on the bed, he towered over him, looking like a dark brick wall. "That… that thing attacked civilians! I did what I had to do to protect innocent lives!"

"You know our code!" Six raised himself to his feet, staring at the man through his shades. "Cure – Contain – Kill. There's a reason why 'kill's at the end of it: we don't take lives unless we have to, and you know it."

"Do you think it's really that simple, Six?" John snarled. "Things are brutal here. Unlike you lot back in America, we don't have a cure!"

"…Rex?" Six blinked. When was the last time Rex went to England? He couldn't remember. How long had Providence UK gone without a cure?

John smirked. "See what I mean? We don't have the sick cushy luxury to letting what we catch go back into society. This isn't catch and release anymore, Six, it's catch and exterminate. We do what we can to keep our people alive. And we're doing a damned good job at it."

The silence was palpable. Six's expression remained unchanged, but something had shifted, he knew.

"Who are you to judge us?" said John Henry, an air of finality to his words. "Who are you to say you know what's best for England?"

Six said nothing.

"That's what I thought," John crossed his arms, satisfied. "Don't look at me like I'm a brute. I want peace as much as you do. I just work harder at it…"

The fax machine interrupted them both – it whirred to life, churning out a print report of Peter Waterbury's 'autopsy'. The photographs looked even messier and bloodier than Six had expected.

_…examination confirmed subject belongs to the common strain of EVO commonly inhabiting the Underground near disused stations (e.g. Grove Road, Shoreditch…_

Wait.

"There are EVOs living in the Underground tubes?" Six stared, "How?"

"They use the abandoned stations as nests," John explained. "Every so often they come out for food. Nasty buggers. They also attack trains – and they're in swarms, apparently."

"Why was this never mentioned in the annual report?" Six scrutinised the paper, willing it for more answered. "You should have told us about this,"

"We only just found out ourselves. Seems they're smart enough to hide from agents."

Six sighed. First the Guido Pulonochnaya problem, now this.

"We're going to Bristol, get some more guns from HQ," Six muttered, to a very pleased John Henry. "Don't look so happy," He warned. "I just want to get to the bottom of this."

*******  
**6.2.1. Park N Ride**

"Dipsy?" Rex held on tight to the seat under him. "Dipsy, I don't think this is safe."

"Fook safety, I live for speed," She snarled, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. The road rushed by the windscreen in a jagged blur of colour as she guided her car through the Longmead traffic. Trees stretched, turning into walls of brown and green, the sky melted into the road, buildings became blurs as indistinct as melting ice cream.

Rex concentrated on the bobble-headed hula girl on the dashboard. Even though his stomach was empty, he felt the need to puke.

Finally, mercifully, it ended. The car was parked, angled awkwardly, outside of another train station. Dipsy opened the door and got out, satisfied at her handiwork.

"Not bad, eh?" She beamed. "And I only gots a learners permit."

"Gee… I could never tell,"

"Wotch yer gob, boy," Dipsy crossed her arms, before thinking it was best to grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him into the building.

"Fine, fine," Rex staggered behind her. "But I don't get it – if you have a car, why are you taking a train?"

"Park and Ride." Dipsy let go of his shirt, pointing to a sign above their heads explaining the Park N' Ride scheme. Apparently, she thought Rex was stupid or illiterate, or both, since she felt the need to explain it to him: "Employees gets bonuses if we use the Tube, we do. Fooking stupid, but I could use an extra fifty each month. Bills to pay, food to buy, eeejits like you to shoot at…"

"Very funny,"

"Funny me middle name," Dipsy placed a hand on her chest daintily and smiled, displaying the gap in her teeth. "Diana Fucking Funny Tern."

This wasn't like the station they had left – it was bigger, for one, with actual escalators, high ceilings, no sign of rust anywhere. A sculpture in the shape of an older steam train stood under a skylight, the sun on it turning it into gold.

The sign, Rex noticed, was different too. Instead of a pair of white lines on a blue rectangle like at Guido's old station, it was a blue circle with a red line running through it. The words UNDERGROUND were printed on it in bold white lettering.

"Are we going to use the subway now?" He asked, trying not to sound excited. He'd never done it before.

"The Tube," Dipsy corrected him, "Subway's American," Searching in her bag, she pulled out a pair of small blue cards.

"Ye can use Guy's Oyster Card," She said begrudgingly, in a tone that clearly didn't match her generosity. "Just… don't drop it or anything,"

"Right," Rex added, pocketing it, smiling. "I'll be careful,"

Dipsy looked unconvinced.

"Th' hell you'd better,"

*****  
**6.2.2. A Train to catch**

Rex spent most of the trip admiring Guy's Oyster Card. It reminded him of the card keys he used back at Providence. He never had much use for his, especially since he had his powers back then, but he always remembered Holiday keeping hers on a lanyard around her neck.

The train arrived at the station in a blur of painted, grinding metal and windows. The nose was triangular, and bulkier than he'd imagined. Dipsy explained there was an engine inside, running on steam. Instead of releasing the steam underground, the train simply condensed it back into water, which dripped down the slope of the triangle and boiled again into steam. Rex remembered thinking that was the most ingenious thing fathomable the Underground.

He stood corrected: half an hour in a train that rocked back and forth gave him a new appreciation for overhead straps. Every time the carriage sped up, the ground under him tilted with g-forces. It felt like vertigo, or like a rollercoaster with nothing fun to look at.

The train slowed down far too quickly than he was prepared for. His feet lost contact with the ground and he barrelled into the side of a large woman.

"Sorry, Miss, I-"

The woman looked at her dress, now dusted liberally with the red dirt from Guido's train station. "Ugh, you little dirty…" She grunted, before whispering. "Boy like you should have never left Mexico."

"Ye gots a problem with the ethnicity of me friend 'ere, lady?" Dipsy appeared by his side, an arm around him helping him to his feet.

"Tell your filthy friend to watch his footing," She sniffed, "and to shower. Ugh."

"Why don't ye and me takes this outside?" Dipsy growled, pointing to the open doors and the station beyond.

"Oh, you ruffian!" The woman looked aghast. "I'm calling security."

"I am security, dammit!" Dipsy opened her jacket to display her uniform. "So watch ye fat maw afor I start makin' calls t' me superior,"

She led him away from the woman, and guided his arm back to a strap. This time, she stayed next to him, darting an occasional glance back at the startled fat woman.

"You're really not allowed to do that, are you?" Rex whispered, laughing.

"No," Dipsy chuckled, whispering back, "oI'm a Railway employee – the Tube's run by a different company."

"That was… nice of you," Rex smiled. "Really. No one's ever lied about their job for me before,"

"Don't bother," Dipsy shrugged. "Guy and I gots some slack back when he first 'dopted me. Me mother was Southeast Asian or summat."

"Really?" Rex blinked. There wasn't an ounce of her face that didn't seem Caucasian. "I can't tell-"

He was cut short by a scream - part of the carriage had been torn away, displaying a large, bulbous, worm-like EVO clinging mightily on to the still-running train.

"DAMMIT!" Dipsy screamed, pushing commuters behind her as she hoisted her gun into her arms.

"Everybody move in an orderly fashion to the front of the train. I repeat, move to the front of the train," She called out in a practised tone, to a crowd that was far from paying attention. She interspersed her routine with the occasional: "Don't push, goddammit!"

She planted her feet against the floor of the train, meters from the centipede EVO's face. Rex noticed she was keeping her feet apart and balanced before firing her gun.

"WHY-(bang)-CAN'T-(bang)-I-(bang)-RIDE-THE-DAMNED-TUBE-(bang)-WITHOUT-(bang)-HAVING-TO-(bang)-SHOOT-SOMETHING?"

"This happens often?" Rex herded the last of the passengers into the next carriage and slammed the doors shut between them.

"As often as oi change me underwear." Dipsy said before turning to the EVO and shooting it again. The lasers bounced off its body like pebbles on a car. Annoyed, the creature raised its head, opened its mouth, and bellowed long and hard. Strands of saliva smacked their faces.

Rex had never seen so many teeth before.

He had to do something. Something fast. Concentrating, he willed his hands to, please, mercifully, grow larger…

Nothing.

He tried again, praying, hard, that if he could just make a decent pair of smackhands… He'd never steal money for Six to buy pizza ever again. Yes, that was a good deal. He thought of home, of Bobo and of Holiday, of moonlight nights shooting hoops with Noah, and of every single joy he could muster…

The familiar clicking of machinery falling into place was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard in all of England. Never mind the fact that it was almost drowned out by the screams in the other carriage, the banging of Dipsy's gun, or even the long, pained bellowing of the EVO before him.

Both his arms sheathed in copper and steel, Rex slid his goggles down over his eyes, oh, yes, this felt very good indeed.

"You picked the wrong train to harass, _idioto_," He laughed, running to smack his metallic hands into the EVO's face. The both of them tumbled off the train, and onto the tracks, a mass of flesh and metal and blood and sweat.

He pinned down the EVO, its many stubby legs clawing at him as he held it, its mouth screaming int protest and fear. His smackhands receding into his body, Rex planted all his weight on top of the EVO, his hands firmly placed on what he guessed was a chest.

"Easy, now," he whispered. "Easy…"

He felt the surge of nanites down his arm, rushing, gently, into the EVO's body. Underneath his fingers, flesh stirred and shifted and glowed.

"Where am I?" A middle-aged man was staring at the pair of hands pressing down on his stomach. "Who are you?"

Rex smiled, offering the man his hand. "I'll explain later. We've got a train to catch."

* * *

GAH. I keep typing in 'Octopus Card' instead of 'Oyster Card'. The Octopus is the card used in Hong Kong (for the sake of everyone's combined sanity, I won't make a Tuck, Sqwydd, Cricket and Circe joke about this). I have one in my wallet, and, just like the Oyster, the Octopus doesn't have a picture of its namesake on it. I kind of wish it did, though.

In Singapore, we just call ours the EZ-Link card. We're unoriginal bastards that way. C: (They keep telling you it's pronounced 'eee-zee-link' but everyone I know, myself included, just says 'eeez-link'.)

Heads up, there are two allusions to Robert Louis Stevenson in this chapter, and one to E. Nesbitt. The Nesbitt one should be obvious to anyone who read The Railway Children; the RLS ones, maybe a little harder. ;D


End file.
